


S̵h̵e̵ Wants To Be Born Again

by Cryptand_Bismol



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coming Out, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Romance, Supportive Bucky Barnes, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Steve Rogers, ftm Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptand_Bismol/pseuds/Cryptand_Bismol
Summary: “I suspect it might have another effect, too.”“What do you mean?”“It brings what is on the inside to the surface.”Steve looks at him blankly, “I don’t-”“We both know who you are inside, Steven. That the physical does not align with who you are. If I am correct, by the end of tomorrow you’ll be who you were born to be.” Erskine looks at him, really looks, and Steve feels like he’s being flayed open by the intensity of it. Whatever he was looking for, he seems to find, as he breaks the stare and pulls out the bottle of Schnapps, “Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.”





	S̵h̵e̵ Wants To Be Born Again

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'iT' by Christine and the Queens
> 
> I think I had more dedication to writing this than I did my own dissertation.

She was used to people looking at her twice, taking in the tiny frame with the broad shoulders, the almost flat chest but soft round face with soft feminine curls and long eyelashes. They stared at the oversized slacks, held up with a borrowed belt studded with a new notch far from the original manufactured holes. Her shirt was loose, sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow, top button undone even though the air was cool and crisp.

Women would generally tut at her, whisper to their giggling friends as though she could not hear. Men would jeer, saying lewd comments and trying to corner her to flirt. Most of the time she would give back as good as she got, snipping out harsh words that would have them holding back punches. Of course, that was only if she was walking alone. When Bucky was with her the rest of the world fell away, looks ignored as they laughed together, no-one willing to start a fight with a man as muscled and strong as Bucky Barnes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hello James,” the woman smiled at him as he pushes his items onto the counter, “I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”

“All the better for seeing your face, Marlene,” he drawled, with a devilish grin that only grew wider at her blush.

“Still as charming as ever, I see,” she giggled, looking years younger in her mirth, as she rung up Bucky’s items, “These for Stephanie? How’s she been doing?”

“She’s doing well,” he said fondly, “First winter in a long time that her lungs haven’t tried to kill her, so we’ve got a bit extra to spare this month.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! That girl has had more than her fair share of illnesses, it’s nice she has you to look after her, even when she’s not ill.”

“Well, she doesn’t make it easy, that’s for sure,” he grinned, collecting the pencils and paper off the counter, “Wouldn’t have her any other way, though.”

“Aw, you two,” Marlene gushed, “You ought to make an honest woman out of her soon!”

Bucky almost dropped Steve’s presents, “Oh! No, er, we’re not together.”

She raised her eyebrow, “Now, really? I might be an old woman, but I’m not blind! I’ve seen the way you look at each other, like there’s no-one else in the world.”

“Marlene-” he began, a faint blush ghosting his checks.

“Oh, see I knew it! You’re positively smitten.” She half-squealed, “Ever since you were a boy trailing after her I knew you were sweet on her.”

Knowing he couldn’t hide the truth from the kind but nosy cashier, he reluctantly caved, “Yes, well anyone would be lucky to have her, she’s really something. She deserves someone better than some poor kid from Brooklyn.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, James. You’ve got half of the girls in Brooklyn fawning over that charming smile.”

“Well, they ain’t got half of what Stevie has.”

“Oh, you are such a dear. Keep that up and she won’t be able to say no,” the woman cooed, “But in all seriousness, you should ask her on a date. Valentine’s day is coming up soon.”

“Thanks, Marlene. I’ll think about it.” He smiled again, making his way out of the shop.

“Send her my love!” she called after his retreating back, “And while you’re at it send her some of yours too!”

He shook his head in exasperated fondness, “Sure thing, Marlene.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey Stevie,” he greeted, peeling off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the sofa next to where she sat. The act usually drove Stevie mad but that was the fun in it, driving each other wild.

She scowled at him, snatching the coat up and hanging it up herself, the glare intensifying as she watched him brazenly steal her seat, “You’re a jerk.”

“And you’re a punk.” He spread his arm over the back of the chair in an open invitation, and grinned when she flopped down next to him, grumbling all the while, “You had a good day?”

“Mhmm, I finished those posters Mr Faulkner wanted this morning, so I’ve mostly been sketching. I might buy some new pencils with the money, if you don’t need it for anything else; they’re almost out of lead.”

Immeasurably pleased at the perfect timing of his present, he pulled out the sketchbook and pencils from where he’d wedged them between his thigh and the armrest, “Today must be your lucky day then, Stevie.”

“Bucky!” she gasped, “I’ve told you that you shouldn’t keep buying me things!”

“Ah, none of that now, you just said you were going to buy them anyway.”

“I can feel the smugness radiating off you, jerk. Well, this just means I’ll spend the poster money on you.”

“Fine, unlike some people, I am grateful when people buy me things,” he teased.

“Of course I’m grateful. I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“You now I never do. I buy you things because I want to and I like seeing you happy.”

Her cheeks coloured a little, and Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away, “You’re getting soft in your old age.”

He barked out a laugh, “Maybe I was soft this whole time.”

“Soft in the head,” she muttered, and _god_ he wanted to kiss her.

“Punk.” He said fondly, “Marlene sends her love, by the way.”

“I’m sure she had a lot more to say than that. I love the woman but she could talk the hind leg off a donkey. The last time I went in she rambled on and on about how I should settle down.”

“Hmm, funny that, she was telling me a similar thing.”

“Oh yeah? Trying to set you up with someone?”

He paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell her, throw the idea out there and see what she thinks. They were close enough that they could laugh it off; they were together ‘til the end of the line, after all.

“She thought I was already with someone,” he steeled himself, “With you, actually. Asked me when I was going to make an honest woman outta ya.”

Their gazes locked, sharing a look he would swear was filled with such longing it was palpable. Emboldened, he spoke up again, “Can’t say I’m opposed to the idea. Far from it, in fact.”

It hung in the air between them for a while, an offering, fruit waiting to be plucked from the tree before it fell.

Stevie was speechless. She had dreamed of this, of course she had, Bucky was captivating, dare she say irresistible, but the thought of him ever wanting her was just that, a dream. Especially when she was so...queer.

In front of her is the chance to have the life her mother had always wanted for her, a loving husband, two kids, white picket fence and a dog, waiting at home while he’s at work, getting dinner ready and cleaning the house like the perfect housewife. She pushes the thought aside, no, life with Bucky would never be that dull, he wouldn’t let it be, would never expect her to live like that. But in all of them, all of the scenarios of when she’s married to him, good or bad, it’s still not _right._ Because she’s always a _she_ in them. If she wants to be with Bucky, and god, the longing for it aches in her bones, then she has to tell him, has to let him know the real reason why she’d dropped ‘Stephanie’ when she was twelve years old.

She knows Bucky, knows he’s nothing but good and supportive, but it doesn’t stop the fear she has at his possible reaction. She took a deep breath, “I don’t want to be your girlfriend, or you wife.”

Bucky visibly deflated, “I- I see. That’s ok. I don’t- you don’t owe me anything. I was just saying. That we could’ve, if you wanted to.”

Stevie slid closer to him, their thighs pressed together, “No, Buck. I mean, I don’t want to be your girlfriend, because I want- I want to be your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” he repeated, confused, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to be a woman. No, I’m _not_ a woman, never have been. Inside I’m just as much a man as you, but I was- I was born in the wrong body, I guess. This,” he gestured to himself, “This body isn’t mine.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, dumbstruck.

“I understand if you don’t... if you don’t want this anymore. Want me anymore. I wish I didn’t feel this way, I wish that I could be happy with my body, that it was simple and that we could be together like any other couple, but it kills me every day to pretend to be something I’m not. No matter how much I try, no matter what clothes I wear, people still see me as Stephanie Rogers. And, god, I love you Buck. I don’t want to have to pretend with you.”

Bucky is silent for a moment, before determination settled over his face and he took the blonde’s hands in his own, “Stevie, I’ve known you for over a decade, and I have never once wished you were anything but yourself. And if being yourself means you are a man, then I don’t care that it won’t be simple for us. I love you because you aren’t afraid to be who you are, and you aren’t afraid to give people a piece of your mind when they think they can change your mind. I love you because you’re stubborn and a firecracker and won’t put up with anyone’s shit. I love everything about you, even when you’re being pig-headed and won’t listen to a damn thing I say.”

“Bucky,” he whispered, a lump in his throat.

“I’d give you the world if you asked, Stevie, you have to know that.”

He couldn’t hold back the tears or his desire any longer, sobbing as he threw himself at Bucky, kissing him desperately. Bucky responded with a soft moan, bringing his hands to cup Stevie’s face, and letting himself be pushed back into the couch cushions enthusiastically.

 

* * *

 

 

“You should cut it,” he said, taking a sip of his morning coffee, “If you want to, that is.”

“Hmm?” Steve replied from the bathroom, tugging a brush through his hair.

“I can tell it bothers you, having it so long. You practically flinch when it touches your back.”

“I would love to cut it, but then people would get even more suspicious than they already are,” he grumbled, giving up as the brush became caught on a particularly bad knot. He threw it down into the sink, and stomped into the kitchen, pulling up a chair beside him.

“Not if you’re careful about it. Remember back when we were in school and dames had that real short hair, with the waves in it?”

“Yeah, _dames_ , Buck.”

“Tsk, that wasn’t what I meant and you know it.” He said, setting the mug down, “I’m just saying you can have it shorter without having to worry too much. Style it when you go out and just slick it back when we’re alone.”

Steve swiped the coffee up and took his own gulp, “That’s actually not a bad idea. You feeling alright over there?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” He said dryly, snatching the mug bag, “You should go to that hairdressers next to the grocers. We’ve got a bit of money spare this month.”

“I’m not wasting our money on that, Buck! We need that in case I get sick again.”

“Where do you suggest you get it cut then?” he replied, “And you haven’t been sick in months. You’ve barely even had three asthma attacks since Christmas.”

“That’s not the point. We don’t need to waste the money when you could just cut it.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Do you not remember the last time I cut my hair? That time you were visiting your ma in hospital and I turned up looking like I’d been mauled by a dog.”

“That was when it was your own hair. It’s easier when it’s someone else’s.”

“I’m sorry, Steve, but no. This is where I draw the line.”

They stared at each other for a long time, neither wanting to back down. For once, it was Steve who broke first, “Fine. I’ll go to the fuckin’ salon.”

Bucky grinned at him, smacking a messy kiss on his cheek, “And I didn’t even have to beg.”

“Keep that up and you will.” Steve groused.

“Is that a promise?”

Steve shot him a glare, finishing the rest of the coffee, and grumbling all the way to the bedroom, while Bucky smiled affectionately at his retreating back.

 

* * *

 

 

Everyone already knew that Stephanie Rogers was odd. But Bucky Barnes very clearly wasn’t; he was the perfect man, had dames falling at his feet, and had a smile that made the room feel ten times hotter than it actually was.

And yet, eccentric Stephanie Rogers and charming Bucky Barnes made the perfect match. People tried to deny it, but they’d never seen a couple look so happy together, laugh so freely and look at each other so fondly.

 

* * *

 

 

He loved that he could dance with Bucky in public, stand pressed against him as they held each other close and whispered quietly to each other. The only negative was that he was forced to wear a damn dress.

They had tried, months ago when they first got together, to go dancing dressed in his best slacks and shirt, but they got into a shouting match when they were denied entry for not adhering to the dress code. Bucky had insisted there was no such rule, and almost strayed into dangerous territory in his rambling, and for once it was Steve pulling a fuming Bucky away.

“They’ve got no right to turn us away!”

“They just don’t want any trouble.”

“Well they got plenty a’ trouble from me,” he growled, barely even soothed by the cool hand Steve had resting on his arm.

“And they’d get into even more if someone called the police on two queers dancing together.”

“It shouldn’t matter. What’s it to anyone else? I love ya and I ain’t gonna stop just because some asshole is offended by your pants.”

“I don’t think it was just the pants, Buck.”

They’d argued more at home, Bucky insistent that he should be able to go where he pleased and wear what he wanted, but Steve had long known that battles like these weren’t going to be won any time soon. Bucky had suggested that they dance in the flat, where they could do whatever they want, but it wasn’t just the dancing he longed for, it was being able to show the world that they belonged to each other. And so, Steve pushed down the bile as he pulled the dress on, made himself look like the world wanted him too, ignoring the pain he could see in Bucky’s eyes. But it was worth it, the feeling melting away when they danced together, swayed intimately on the dancefloor with heated looks shared between them.

 

* * *

 

 

Neither of them were particularly docile, so arguments between them weren’t uncommon, but they always had an undercurrent of affection behind them, words never irreparably harsh. But then the announcement came, the US were entering the war and the fights became more frequent, fear for the future making strained silences between them.

Bucky had enlisted, had little choice to when he was the ideal solider; tall, smart, and strong, strong enough to be a boxing champion. But that was never the point of contention. It was Steve’s resolve to enlist too, even though they both knew it was impossible. Bucky wanted him to stay at home, stay safe and do his bit for the war effort at home, but Steve always had the same argument, that people were laying down their lives, Bucky was laying down his life, while he may as well have been sitting at home twiddling his thumbs.

These fights were more bitter, always ended up with a too-large space between them on the mattress, and awkward breakfasts. But they could never stay mad too long, barely a day passing before they were panting apologies into each other’s mouths, hands touching as much skin as they could, making love in the soft sunlight of the afternoon.

 

* * *

  

Bucky had fussed over him, of course, when he found out that he would be training over the winter, making Steve promise that he would go to the hospital as soon as he even got so much as a sniffle. He’d resisted at first, told Bucky that he wasn’t an idiot and he could take care of himself, but as his departure date drew closer he knew it was Bucky’s way of keeping the nerves and anxiety at bay. He’d take Bucky’s hands in his, caressing the knuckles with soothing fingers, whispering “It’ll be ok,” and holding him close.

They wrote to each other while he was gone, even though he was only in Wisconsin, and Steve slipped each letter into the pages of his sketchbook for safety. He would usually draw in the margins of his own letters, hurried portraits and little doodles, and sometimes, when he was feeling particularly amorous, he would sketch more risqué figures, two bodies entwined, or himself stretched out on the bed, or Bucky as he remembered him, shirtless and basking in the sun.

 

* * *

 

 

He quietly thrilled at the man before him, even as his nose was dripping blood and his head span. This stranger, asshole though he was, didn’t look upon him as though he were a woman. The mere thought bolstered him as he fought back; what he lacked in muscle he made up for in ferocity, even managing to get a few punches in before he was knocked to the floor again. He was halfway to his feet again, wincing at the pain in his ribs before he heard a voice call out at the end of the alley.

“Hey! Pick on someone your own size.”

Bucky threw a punch at the man, and kicked him as he scrambled away for good measure. When he was sure he was gone he turned to Steve, trying to look disapproving but too glad to see Steve to hide his smile. He’d seen Bucky in his uniform before, just before he left for training, but his memories didn’t hold a candle to how _good_ he looked in that one moment, how his shoulders had filled out the jacket and how his arms were so much thicker, and Steve would have salivated from the sight if he wasn’t still bleeding from his nose and clutching his ribs.

“I had him on the ropes.”

“I can see that,” Bucky said, before frowning at the papers scattered on the ground. He bent down and picked them up cautiously, “Steve.”

“Look, Bucky I can explain.”

“Explain what? That you’ve been trying to enlist? You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form!”

“Oh, and what am I supposed to do? Tell them I’m a girl with a crooked spine, asthma and have had pneumonia more times than I can count?”

“No, you’re not supposed to tell them anything, because you’re not supposed to enlist. They'll catch you, or worse they'll actually take you.”

“Look I know you don't think I can do this...”

"This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war! Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs."

“What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?”

“You could be a nurse, like your ma.” He tried, but Steve was already shaking his head.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? They took one look at me and practically shoved me out the door. Said I was a risk to patients because I’m so prone to getting sick.”

“I don’t-”

“Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

“Right. Cause you got nothing to prove.”

“I’m just as much a man as any of them. I thought you saw that, but I guess I was wrong.” He said, furious and dangerously close to tears. He barged past Bucky, wanting nothing more than to head home and for it go back to those years before this hellish war.

“Stevie, c’mon, that’s not what I meant,” Bucky was right on his heels, “You’re worth ten of them, you’ve got more heart than the lot of them combined. It’s just your body doesn’t match your soul. I would take every illness of yours, everything that hurts you and kept you back all these years, I would give you my body if I could. And it kills me that I can’t, it kills me that I’m the only one who can see the truth, how you’re the strongest man in Brooklyn, probably the strongest man in the world.”

Steve’s stride slows throughout his speech, until he’s stationary and Bucky is standing close in front of him, a gentle hand on his elbow. He guides him to the nearest empty alley, all too aware of the people milling about the street in the cool afternoon.

“You gotta keep yourself safe, Stevie, because what’s the point of a world without Steve Rogers in it?”

“Where would Steve Rogers be without his Bucky?” he choked out, pulling Bucky into a hug, his whole frame shaking with sobs as he presses his face into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder.

They stayed entwined for what feels like hours, shadows forming where they were once illuminated by the sun, before Bucky pulls away, his eyes as red-rimmed as his boyfriend’s.

“I got my orders,” he said into the quiet space between them, “The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

“Hey, we’ve still got tonight. I was thinking we could go to the World Exposition together, see the future and all.”

“I’d like that.” Steve smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. He followed Bucky out into the street, staying close but not daring to hold hands when he was dressed like he was.

“Need to get you cleaned up before we head out, though,” he said, gesturing to the blood staining both his face and his shirt, “Damn, is that your good shirt? I’ll have to lend you one of mine. You can have that one I bought before training, lord knows I won’t be wearing it for the next few months.”

The blonde frowned, “But we’re going out together. Won’t I need to dress up?”

“It’s my last night, I want to spend it with my boyfriend, not some dame.”

Even with his bruised chest and split lip, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

 

* * *

 

 

It was such a relief to not wear the dress, and he felt elated as he pulled on his best slacks and Bucky’s crisp new shirt, but styled his hair as the hairdresser had intended. He grimaced at his reflection, face even more effeminate with the soft curls framing his face, but he knew it was a small price to pay to be able to touch Bucky out in public without getting arrested or beaten up. Looking that he did they’d get jeers and hard stares at worst.  

“Wow,” Bucky said as he watched Steve walk into the kitchen, “Now I’m half-convinced I want to just stay in all night.”

“There’ll be enough of that later,” he huffed, flattered, pressing up on his tip-toes to peck a chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips, “Sorry about the hair, but I didn’t want to risk getting beaten up just because I’m holding your hand.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have fun messing it up later,” he wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist, unashamedly taking the opportunity to squeeze his ass, and chuckling at Steve’s resulting yelp, “If it’s any consolation, baby, you look incredibly sexy right now. Then again, I always think you look sexy.”

Steve preened at the praise, “Do you actually want to go to this expo? ‘Cause you’re making it real hard to convince me to leave.”

“Hmm, well it doesn’t start for another hour; who says we can’t do both?”

Steve practically shoved him into the bedroom, “I like the way you think.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, they’re half an hour late and Steve’s hair is far less put-together than when he’d first styled it. The happy flush on his cheeks still hadn’t faded, and the warmth of Bucky’s arm around his waist almost makes him forget that this will be their last night together for many months.

Bucky watched in awe as Howard Stark presented his flying car, amazed even though it drops to the floor soon after its starts hovering. Steve just watched Bucky’s face, convinced there was nothing more beautiful.

They wander around the fair for a while afterwards, Bucky animatedly talking about the technology on display, and though Steve has little idea what he’s talking about, he’s hooked on every word. Bucky spots a hotdog stand, laughing at the memory of their trips to Rockaway Beach, promising him that they’ll be the best hotdogs of their lives. And when Steve eats it, perched on a rickety wooden bench with their sides flush, Bucky’s arm a warm weight around his shoulders, he thinks Bucky was right.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s not sure where Bucky had wandered off to, but with the heavy crowds and his short stature it would impossible for him to find him by chance. He spots the enlistment office, heading over towards it and hoping that Bucky will think to look for him there. And if not, maybe someone will take pity on him and let him join.

The hallway is filled with recruit posters, images of soldiers all doing their part lining the walls, an image of Uncle Sam saying, ‘I WANT _YOU_ ’, clearly not aware he was pointing at 4F Steve Rogers.

He turns away from the offending point, catching himself in the reflection of another poster, a uniform with a blank face that should be reflecting his own right back. Instead, his eyes are somewhere around the chin, and his jaw is lost in the folds on the clothes.

“Stevie,” he heard Bucky’s exasperated voice called from behind him, “The enlistment office? Again? I can’t-”

“It’s alright Buck, I wasn’t going to.” He said absently, still starting at the ill-fitting reflection, “Knew you’d come here if we got separated and, well, it’s nice to imagine that I could be there by your side.”

Bucky followed his gaze to the poster, feeling any anger fizzle away, “Oh, Stevie.”

He turned away from the image, as if burned, “I know you’re right. But it doesn’t make it any easier when you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ll be waiting here like a war-wife to hear any news of you.”

“You know I don’t want to leave you. You know I have to.”

“As I said, it doesn’t make it easier.”

Bucky pursed his lips, not wanting to spoil the evening but knowing it needed to be asked, “Will you try to enlist again?”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, “I can’t say I won’t. But, I’ll try other ways first. Maybe try for nursing again.”

They stand in silence, knowing they’ll never see eye to eye on this one matter, but Steve is trying, Bucky can tell.

“You could do art for the war office,” he said eventually, “Maybe you could get your foot in the door that way.”

“Maybe,” Steve replied softly, taking Bucky’s hand in his, “But for now, let’s go home.”

Bucky pressed a kiss into his hair, pushing away thoughts that this time tomorrow he’ll be miles away, that he may never come back to hold this beautiful man in his arms.

 

* * *

 

 

He thumbs through the files in front of him, Brooklyn, New Haven, Paramus, staring at the list of ailments and the blood-red letters of rejection. The faces staring up at him from the ID photographs are grainy, but the soft jaw and full lips give them away, despite the fierce determination in their eyes.

He watches them walk in, hair no longer slicked back but in loose waves around their jaw, trying to blend in even while they wear trousers and a baggy shirt. They stare at the enlistment posters with blank features, but he can practically feel the longing from where he stands in the shadows of the hall. Minutes pass before a soldier strides towards him, shoulders broad in his well-fitted uniform, dark hair peeking out from beneath his army-issue cap. They talk softy, the blonde eventually turning to stand close to their soldier, intimate. They’re like the sun and the moon in their juxtaposition, small and slight, radiating tenacity, versus the tall and muscled, fear in the back of his eyes.

He brushes his thumb across black ink.

_Steven Grant Rogers._

* * *

 

The knock at the door made him pause, spoon half-dipped in the rich steaming liquid. He set it down on the bench, frowning at the stain it made on the counter, and hurried to answer.

The man was older, grey speckled in his beard and hear, glasses perched across his nose. His suit looked expensive, soft fabrics and fitted in a way that Steve could only dream of, a smart hat covering his hair. He looked kind, approachable, but with an air of authority about him, exacerbated by the brown briefcase he carried.

“Can I help you?” Steve asked, keeping the door mostly closed.

“Steven Rogers?” the man asked coolly.

Steve grew more concerned; he’d only given that name on his enlistment forms.

“Um, why don’t you come in?” he said, not wanting to have a conversation like this in the hall.

He led him to the kitchen table, feeling it was a bit more appropriate than the couch. The man set his hat and briefcase on the table, flicking open the latches of the latter and drawing out a pile of papers.

“So, you want to go overseas? Kill some Nazis?”

Steve froze, “Excuse me?”

“Where are you from, Mr Rogers? Mmm? Is it New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities.” He tossed the files in front of Steve, and he saw his own face staring up at him from the frayed pages.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

“You are Steve Rogers, are you not? Or is it Stephanie?”

All air left his lungs. Oh fuck.

“I- uh, I’m not-”

“No, it’s not that I’m interested in. It’s the five tries.” He said, almost dismissively, “But you didn’t answer my question. Do you want to kill Nazis?”

Steve’s head was beginning to throb, confused at the direction of the conversation, “I don’t wanna kill anyone. I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

“Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy, huh? I can offer you a chance. Only a chance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You want to be a soldier, and I can make that happen.”

“But you know- know what I am.”

“That you were born a woman? Or that you want to be a man?” and there it was, spoken out in the open, “It matters not. You have heart, and heart is what we need. Regardless of any physical discrepancies. So, do you accept my offer?”

He swallowed, staring at the man in front of him, half-convinced that this was a trap. But it seemed they already had all of the evidence against him, proof of him lying on enlistments and, in their eyes, masquerading as a man, so why not arrest him outright?

“What if I say no?”

“Then I leave, and you go back to your life.”

“No repercussions?”

“No repercussions.”

Steve was silent for a beat.

“I’ll take it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The week of training was gruelling, his weak muscles and asthma no match for the burly men who were training alongside him. Some of the others took the piss out of him, of course they did, but thankfully it was pretty tame compared to the fights he endured in the back alleys of Brooklyn.

He was incredibly lucky no-one caught sight of his bandages, and that the few short showers they had been allowed had been mostly private. He thought Cramer had seen him once, but if he did he never said anything. No-one seemed to suspect, either, that he wasn’t quite who he said he was. It helped that the military haircut they’d given him made his jaw look sharper, his face less soft. When he looked in the mirror he was thrilled to see more of Steve Rogers staring back, with the face of Stephanie Rogers fading away into his memories.

 

* * *

 

 

He was sweating profusely, arms burning as he tried his best to keep up with the pace of the other men. He was getting more lightheaded with every push-up, blood rushing in his ears. That didn’t stop him from shooting up though, when he hears the call of grenade, throwing himself onto the rolling metal canister, yelling at everyone to get back.

He wasn’t scared, not really, he’d resigned himself to death so many times when he was shaking in bed, delirious with sickness, that he thinks ‘if I’m going to go, I’m going to go’. Time stretched on, and Steve initially thought it was just the way time sometimes ran in slow motion, but the voices around him sounded normal. He looked up, registering only a few seconds after the words are said that it wasn’t real. Erskine and the Colonel were staring at him, mouths moving but he couldn’t quite make out the sound.

Agent Carter helped him to his feet, ordering the other men to continue with the push-ups before taking his arm and guiding him to the doctor.

“Congratulations Steven,” Erskine said appraisingly, “You’ve been approved for Project Rebirth.”

“I have?”

“The procedure will begin tomorrow.”

“What exactly is the procedure?”

“Classified, I’m afraid. At least when we’re out in the open like this.”

Steve nodded, still a bit breathless from earlier and sure his asthma was trying to make itself known. He saluted them both, before turning back to the rest of the division, who were just starting a round of burpees.

“Where are you going, Rogers?” Agent Carter asked, making him pause.

“Back to the exercise, Ma’am.”

Her lips quirked into a smile, as Erskine laughed, “Oh, no Steven, you’re training is complete. You can go back to your quarters and get prepared for tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 

He liked Erskine, liked how open and plain he is with him. Once he was back in his bunk, the doctor told him a bit more about the procedure, about the serum and its history. He can’t say he’s thrilled at the thought of so many needles, but he’s had all sorts of injections in the past, so he’s fairly sure he can handle it.

He had to ask it, because there are plenty of men he knows who would be much more effective soldiers than him, can think of the one perfect man, though he is far away now, somewhere unreachable in Europe, “Why me?”

Erskine told him about his life, about Schmidt and the serum, "The serum amplifies everything that is inside, so good becomes great; bad becomes worse. This is why you were chosen. Because the strong man who has known power all his life, may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows... compassion."

“Thanks, I think.”

“I suspect it might have another effect, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“It brings what is on the inside to the surface.”

Steve looks at him blankly, “I don’t-”

“We both know who you are inside, Steven. That the physical does not align with who you are. If I am correct, by the end of tomorrow you’ll be who you were born to be.” Erskine looks at him, really looks, and Steve feels like he’s being flayed open by the intensity of it. Whatever he was looking for, he seems to find, as he breaks the stare and pulls out the bottle of Schnapps, “Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.”

He doesn’t say anything, but hold his glass up to toast.

 

* * *

 

 

“I know this neighbourhood. I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner.”

“Did you have something against running away?”

“You start running they’ll never let you stop. You stand up, push back. Can’t say no forever, right?”

“I know a little of what that’s like. To have every door shut in your face.” She turns to look at him then, an odd glint in her eye, “I suspect that you know that intimately too?”

He spares a glace to the driver, but he either doesn’t hear them or has been ordered not to listen, “Did Erskine tell you?”

“No. There is a reason I was hired for the SSR.”

“I thought I was doing an ok job at hiding it.”

“Don’t worry, you are. But it’s my job to see the things people are hiding.” She looks at him again, her face unreadable, “I assume you and Dr. Erskine have a plan? For hiding it?”

“More of a theory, really. He thinks the serum will help. Will make me who I am on the inside.”

“Oh, I see. This is more than just doing your bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I assumed you present yourself as you do so you can fight. But it’s actually who you are.”

“Does that bother you?”

She raised her eyebrow at him, almost surprised at the question, “Of course not.”

 

* * *

 

 

The room was huge, and he couldn’t quite believe this was hidden beneath the streets of Brooklyn. There were more people in the room than he expected, photographers, agents, and even the Colonel. He was struck by how now un-hospital like it was, barely any nurses or doctors around, and he no surgical table. Instead there was a pod in the centre of the room, reminding him of a futuristic coffin.

Erskine made him take off his shirt and tie, so he climbed into the pod and lay back, soft undershirt the only thing hiding his chest. He hoped no-one looked at him too hard, noticed the soft breasts beneath that were unbound; the doctor worried for his health if he kept the bandages on.

He was surprised when he heard Howard Stark’s voice, not having noticed him in the mass of people before. Bucky would be so jealous; he idolised the man. His chest ached a little at the thought of him.

A microphone was tapped and the tinny voice of Dr Erskine drew him from his thoughts, “Ladies and gentlemen, today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path to peace. We begin with a series of micro injections into the subject’s major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. And then to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays.”

He felt a light prick in his arm, evidentially a preliminary injection, “That wasn’t so bad,” he joked.

“That was penicillin.” The doctor said dryly, before he turned to address the spectators.

He could feel the injections in every muscle, his body aching all over, but the lack of localised pain made it somewhat bearable as he couldn’t focus on any one area. He clenched his teeth, but stayed quiet, blinking the pain away as the pod enclosed him and there was a knock on the glass.

“It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?” he managed to say.

Erskine seemed satisfied that he was still living, “We will proceed.”

He hears Stark saying numbers and tapping buttons, but soon his body was burning hot, every muscle feeling like they were being torn apart, his bones splintering, and he couldn’t help but scream out in pain. He could hear Agent Carter calling for it to stop, Erskine agreeing and willing Stark to kill the reactor. But Steve was here now, had worked for this, had longed for this his whole life, and was not going to have it stopped by a bit of pain, “No! Don’t! I can do this!” he cried out, agony lacing every word.

It was only a half a minute more, sparks buzzing around the room and the reactor overloading. The pain was mostly gone, though his muscles still ached, and he felt the pod door open. He stepped out on shaky legs, Erskine and Stark holding him up, he slurred out, “I did it.”

His voice sounded odd, deeper and fuller, yet still familiar to his ears. He looked down at himself disbelievingly, strong muscles everywhere, shirt ripped from the expansion and chest bare. Tears gathered in his eyes, seeing not the soft lumps of flesh he had long agonised over, but masculine pectorals above strong abs. Between his legs felt heavier, he could feel the odd sensation of testicles cupped by his underwear, and the small movement of his shaft as he stepped. He caught his reflection in the glass of the pod, jaw chiselled and brow strong, face everything he’d dreamed of.

“Yeah, yeah, I think we did it.” Erskine said from beside him, arms still holding him up.

Stark is staring at him in awe, “We actually did it.”

They let him go once he’s steady on his feet, and Peggy stepped up in front of him, hands involuntarily reaching up to touch his chest, before she righted herself, “How do you feel?”

What could he possibly say to that? Like he’s finally in the right skin? Like he’s just come home? He settled for, “Taller.”

She smiled, “You look taller.”

And then it all went to hell, the man bombing the observation room and taking off with the serum, not before shooting Dr Erskine and Steve held him as he died. He caught up with Carter, watching her stand her ground with her pistol raised like an avenging angel, and he pushed her out of the way before she can be hit by the taxi the man has commandeered. He rushed out an apology, sprinting off after the car, crashing into a store front and into a street full of cars, not used to the ease of breathing and the endless energy his muscles seemed to have. The boy thrown into the water grinned up at him, urging him to give chase, and soon he was ripping the man out of the submarine.

“Who the hell are you?” he slammed the man down on the concrete, the stolen vial shattering.

“The first of many. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. Hail Hydra!”

Then the man is convulsing, mouth foaming as he swallows the concealed cyanide pill, and for the second time that day a man dies in his arms.

 

* * *

 

 

He hates every minute of the USO tour, every minute where he dresses in that stupid costume and smiles into the crowd about buying war bonds, as useless as he would be if they did keep him as a research specimen, perhaps even more so. He thought he was going to be a solider, to be fighting on the front line like he knew he could, and every day he despaired at what Erskine would have thought of him, of what Bucky would say if he saw him now.

People approach him like he’s a movie star, like he’s an All-American Hero, asking for his autograph and for photos, like he’s not a propaganda showpiece. When the real heroes are laying their lives on the line.

He didn’t see Agent Carter again until Italy, after the soldiers in the crowd heckled him. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, and of course she tells him as much, cementing his own lack of self-worth.

“You know for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country. I finally get everything I wanted, and I’m wearing tights.” He said, watching wounded soldiers arrive, beaten and bloody, “They look like they’ve been through hell.”

She hummed sadly, “These men more than most. Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned. Your audience contained what was left of the one-oh-seventh. The rest were killed or captured.”

His heart stops. He felt like his asthma was returning for how hard he was finding it to breath, “The one-oh-seventh?”

It’s like he’s on autopilot, running into the Colonel’s tent, begging him to tell him news of Bucky.

“I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure it registered properly. He heard the words but it was like they were spoken in another language. He didn’t feel anything, he wasn’t sure he could anymore. It couldn’t be true. If it Bucky was dead he would know, he was sure. But the Colonel never said he was dead, he couldn’t know if he was still alive, held up in some camp at the mercy of Schmidt with the rest of them.

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?”

“Yeah! It’s called winning the war.”

“But if you know where they are, why not at least…?”

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines. Through the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save. But I don’t expect you to understand that, because you’re a chorus girl.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe that they’re willing to condemn these men to death, “I think I understand just fine.”

The Colonel dismisses both of them, but not before Steve caught sight of the military map, the position of the men clear, and he committed it to memory. Determined, he marched to his tent, changing out of the costume, and shoving the few belongings he had into a bag.

Carter had followed him, “What do you plan to do? Walk to Austria?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You heard the Colonel, your friend is most likely dead.”

“He’s not-” he stopped and took a breath, “You don’t know that.”

“Even so, he’s devising a strategy. If he detects-”

“By the time he’s done that, it could be too late!” he walked out of the tent, spotting a jeep and making a bee-line for it, “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then you gotta let me go.” He said, climbing into the jeep.

She stops him with a hand on his arm, “I can do more than that.”

 

* * *

 

 

He sees someone, a Hydra operative, in the corridor and takes a step forward, ready to give chase, when he hears a voice, drowsy and pained.

“Sergeant. 32557...” the voice trails off, as though whoever it belongs to is struggling to remain conscious.

Steve’s heart leapt in his chest, recognising the Brooklyn drawl. Scrambling down the corridor, he found him, strapped to a steel table like a corpse in a morgue. He didn’t look good, deathly pale and feverish, face gaunt, but at the same time he was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.

“Bucky? Oh my god,” he cried, unstrapping him from the table, looking him over for injuries.

“Is that...”

“It’s me, it’s Steve,” he half-sobbed.

“S- Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Stevie.” Bucky’s eyes cleared a little, and he seemed to be able to focus more.

Steve ran his hands across Bucky’s thighs, comforted by the warmth beneath his palms, “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were smaller,” he said, staring at the chest in front of him, dragging his eyes up to the face above him, taking in those bright blue eyes he knew so well, “What happened to you?”

“I joined the army.”

Even in his delirium, Bucky laughed, “Did it hurt?”

“A little.” Steve responded, looping an arm around Bucky’s waist to support him, pulling him to his feet.

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.”

There was an explosion from somewhere behind them, and the pair staggered forward, “We need to get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

 

He’s given his own tent when he returns, which he tries to refuse when he catches the look Bucky is sending his way, and any protests died in his throat. He’d barely removed his helmet and scrubbed the grime from his face before he heard the footsteps approaching his tent, the tent flaps opening to illuminate the floor. He looked up to see Bucky standing there, still in the clothes he was rescued in, green shirt unbuttoned to show an obscene amount of skin, and even in the low light Steve could see the soft curls on his chest that he loved to feel beneath his palms, the dog tags nestled amongst them. The stubble on his jaw was unfamiliar to him; he’d only ever seen Bucky with a 5 o’clock shadow at the end of the day, but he was otherwise always clean shaven. He didn’t quite look like the hale and healthy Bucky he knew back in Brooklyn, with red sunken eyes, a cut grazing his cheek, and the hard-set of his jaw, but he looked worlds better than he did when he found him strapped to that table.

“You look like shit,” Steve opened with, drawing close to the other man, and relishing his presence.

Bucky’s lips quirk into an appreciative smile, “I’ve looked worse.”

“Have you been to see the nurses yet?”

“They gave me a once over. I ain’t bleeding and I ain’t got no broken bones. Still alright for, uh, active duty.” He seemed hesitant at first, but grew in confidence as he looked up at Steve, resting his hands on his broad hips, feeling muscle beneath his fingers instead of bone, “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“Neither can I. And I’ve had months to get used to it.”

“Must have been one hell of a workout,” he brought his hand up to run cool fingers across the new jaw, “Your face is so different, but still somehow the same. Was it some kind of surgery?”

“Not exactly. I, uh, volunteered for a project the SSR was running. A man named Dr Erskine came to our flat and said he knew about all the times I’d tried to enlist, said that he could tell I really wanted to do my bit and offered me a place.”

“Did he know? About...” Bucky gestured to his lower half.

“Yes. He thought he could help me out on that front too.”

“How so?”

Steve slid one of his palms down Bucky’s arm, gently taking his wrist and guiding it between his legs. He could see the moment that Bucky registered what he was touching, eyes widening and shooting down to look at his crotch, “Steve,” he breathed, bringing his gaze back up to the blonde’s face, “How?”

“He gave me this serum, it was supposed to put who you are on the inside onto the outside. And, well, it worked.” Steve said, before adding, uncertainly, “Is that ok?”

“Is it o-” he stopped himself, “Is this what you want? What you wanted?”

He smiled, “Well, I never thought about being this big, but... yes, it’s everything I wanted and more.”

“Then it’s more than ok, Stevie. God this is-” Bucky chokes out, clutching Steve’s shirt and resting his forehead on his chest.

“Buck?”

He sniffed, but stayed where he was, “Sorry, I just- This is all I’ve ever wanted for you, Stevie. For you to be happy. I’ve never seen you look so comfortable in your own skin and, god, I love you. So much.”

Steve carefully pushed Bucky back, gently taking that beloved chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting his head so their lips were barely a hair-width apart, “I love you too, Buck.”

They both moved at the same time, meeting in a sweet kiss that soon turned desperate, Bucky guiding him backwards towards the flimsy cot. It groaned with their combined weight, but miraculously did not break, even when Bucky began to rock his hips, swallowing down Steve’s breathy moans. Bucky’s hands found their way beneath Steve’s shirt, stroking the hot flesh before frenziedly pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. His hands found their way back to the skin on display, working their way to the dusky pink nipples, fingers ghosting teasingly over them and making Steve shudder beneath him.

“Still so sensitive,” he ducked down to press a filthy kiss to his lips, nipping down his neck and chest and finally taking those sweet buds into his mouth. Steve threw his head back in pleasure, pulling Bucky closer with one hand on his back and the other on his ass, thrusting up involuntarily.

“Missed this, missed you so much, Buck.”

“Been dreaming of this, having you back in my arms.” He panted, sliding back up to kiss Steve again, dropping down to rest on his forearms, and grinding down against the length of his cock. Steve’s hands fumbled with Bucky’s trousers, dipping his hand beneath the waistband and grasping the hot flesh in his fist. Bucky thrust into his palm, mouthing at the exposed neck below him.

They kept up the pace for a few minutes, before he slowed his thrusts and snaked an arm down their bodies, deftly opening Steve’s fly and touching the new appendage skin-to-skin for the first time. Steve almost shot off the bed in pleasure, toes curling and moan loud in the stillness of the tent. He pushed their trousers down to their thighs, sinking back down onto his arms, keeping their eyes locked as he slowly thrust his bare cock against Steve’s.

Steve was clutching his shoulders, bruises sure to form my morning, but Bucky couldn’t care less, not when every inch of skin that touched burned so good. He could feel himself getting close, and by the sound of the unrestrained moans coming from Steve, he was too.

“Stevie, gonna- gonna come, ah, yes,”

“Oh, Buck, please, ooh,” he moaned, thrusting up wildly, “God, love you- love you so fucking much.”

“Steve, oh, Stevie,” Bucky managed three more deep strokes before he fell apart, burying his face in Steve’s neck and coming, seed spilling onto his chest in thick ropes. Steve followed soon after, practically sobbing as he came.

They stayed entangled, breathless, exchanging soft kisses and words.

“That was incredible,” Steve whispered, as though speaking any louder would shatter the comfortable bubble they were in.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Bucky smiled, nuzzling into his cheek, “Mmm, I love you.”

“I think that was even better than I imagined it would be, having a penis.”

“Yeah?” he kissed his way to Steve’s ear, muttering the next words as dirtily as he could, “Just wait ‘til I get you deep inside of me.”

Steve inhaled sharply, blush reaching all the way to his ears. Bucky kissed him once more, before heaving himself off the bed and began to clean them both up.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything proceeds as canon after this, with very few differences, apart from the whole relationship aspect.
> 
> There might be some more confusion for WS Bucky since he would remember Steve pre-transition and the Howling Commando's exhibit would undoubtedly not have the fact that Captain America was AFAB.  
> Though tbh in canon Bucky never seems to have too much of a problem with remembering the both of versions of him - they do spend from Nov 1943 to Jan 1945 with the Howlies while Steve is post-serum after all
> 
> And of course right now they're cuddling up in Wakanda, because what is this Infinity War you speak of?


End file.
